


The Way Forward

by sceptick



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Manga, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptick/pseuds/sceptick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wholly different promised day. Or, that one time Roy Mustang had a bit of a mental breakdown because the election results were taking too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Forward

 

Roy Mustang’s office, at the heart of the Amestrian Progressive Party’s campaign office, seemed, at first glance, calm. Havok, Breda, Fuery and Falman were clustered around the radio, but their body language was easy and their conversation was light, albeit quiet. Falman was even doing paperwork. The candidate himself was sitting at his desk, frowning at the daily crossword. Hawkeye sat across from him, her eyes half-lidded and her face blank, almost apathetic.  
  
 _At first glance,_ it seemed calm -- and it was, save for a steady _tap – tap – tap_. The sound of a foot against a hardwood floor. And, as the minutes ticked by, it sped up.  
  
 _Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap –_  
  
“Sir,” Hawkeye said, with quiet reprobation. The tapping stopped, but Roy frowned at her huffily.  
  
“What?” he demanded. She raised her eyebrows at him, but otherwise remained still. He scowled. “I’m perfectly calm,” he said, throwing down his pen and crossing his arms.  
  
“Sir.”  
  
Funny, how one word could mean so many things; in this particular instance, extreme disbelief. Just another of Hawkeye’s innumerable talents, he supposed.  
  
He managed to sit still for a full minute, crossing his legs to keep from fidgeting again. But the silence was stifling; every second it held he felt like he was going to throw up or pass out, and neither of those were acceptable things to do in front of his team. Not that he hadn’t done both in front of them before --  on one memorable occasion both, consecutively –  but the point stood. That wouldn’t be presidential behaviour, after all. Not that he was President yet. Not that there was any certainty he was ever going to _be_ President. And thinking about that possibility just made the nausea _worse_.  
  
Eventually, inevitably, he couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
He rose to his feet, striding away from his desk to pace the room fitfully. “What’s our status?” he said, calling back over his shoulder to the men gathered around the radio. If he’d been trying to sound cool, collected, and leader-ly, he missed the mark. His voice came out rough and unsteady, and he turned away from Hawkeye’s knowing gaze.  
  
Havoc shrugged his shoulders. “No news, boss. Sorry.”  
  
All Roy really wanted to do was _burn_ something. Just something small. Ease the tension a little. He turned to contemplate the framed pictures and certificates on his wall. He didn’t _really_ need that picture of Ed being hugged (read: asphyxiated) by a characteristically shirtless Alex Louis Armstrong, did he? Hilarious as it was, it didn’t even have Al, the superior brother, in it, which made it well-nigh worthless on the whole. And it looked so singe-able...  
  
“Sir.  Back away from the decor,” Hawkeye said.  
  
 _“Lieutenant,”_ Roy said, whining slightly. She frowned at him. He scowled right back, fighting the overwhelming temptation to stick his tongue out. Not very presidential.  
  
There was some comfort to be had in the knowledge that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. She wasn’t a lieutenant anymore, and he wasn’t a colonel, but that was all. They hadn’t even stopped with the titles, although everyone else had. He and Riza had always understood that, between the two of them, ranks were merely formalities and held no real weight. Where was the harm in holding to them, even now?  
  
Also, there was something so... _intimate_ about a name. Somehow. With her.  
  
“There’s really no need for you to get so twitchy, Mustang,” Breda grumbled, jolting Roy from his thoughts and proving that names weren’t necessarily intimate with _everyone_. “I’ve told you, you’ve got this in the bag. The brass may be supporting Thomson, but the people are on your side.”  
  
“You’re just feeling strange because it’s not normal, us having people on our side,” Jean said, smirking.  
  
How could they all be so calm? Thomson was old-school military, with connections to the brass from back in Bradley’s day. He’d fought tooth and nail against the democratization of Amestris, albeit in subtle ways, using others as proxies while he stayed clean in the public eye -- just in case Fuhrer Grumman pulled it off and ensured that he was, truly, the last of that title. He was, in Roy’s opinion, complete scum. If Thomson won, all their hard work and their sacrifices would have been for nothing, because Amestris would be stuck back in the same trap it’d been in before.  
  
The minute he’d gotten wind of Thomson’s plan to run for President, Roy’d begun organizing his departure from the military and his own campaign. And to think he’d been planning on retreating from the public eye, leaving behind his ambitions and the endless scheming for a quieter life out east, assisting with the Ishvalan Restoration. The plan had always been to grant Amestris the right to choose one of their own as president, and remove military politics from the question entirely. So much for that.  
  
If he won, as President he would be able to push forward even more with the restoration, so in the end the only thing that truly mattered would be achieved. The quiet life, the privacy, he supposed he could live without. He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved such things anyway.  
  
The radio droned on. _“Word has it the vote is still being tabulated. Amestris’ first election in, well, a good long while, right folks? And people have turned out in droves all over the country, ready to make their mark on history --”_  
  
He had to be mad. He had to be _mad_ to think the people would accept him, that they would voluntarily elect him. Voluntarily... what if Thomson rigged the vote? Roy wouldn’t put it past him. God, Roy knew he didn’t deserve a quiet, peaceful life, and he definitely didn’t deserve a Presidency, even if it was all in the service of rebuilding what he had helped break, but above all that he believed, he _knew_ , that the people didn’t deserve a dictator-in-waiting like Thomson ruling them. God, this was a disaster, a complete disaster --  
  
The door slammed open. Roy started, violently ejected from his despairing thoughts, and turned to see a familiar crazed grin pointed his way, a good foot higher than he was used to it.  
  
 _When did the little jerk get so tall?_  
  
“Mustang!” Ed crowed, pushing through the doorway (never mind that there was nothing obstructing his way; that was just how Ed moved.) “Preparing for your imminent defeat? Got your concession speech memorized?”  
  
“Brother,” came Al’s voice from the hall, sounding downright aggrieved, and then he was ducking into the room, a sheepish smile on his face. “Hi, guys. Colonel Mustang – oh, wait –“  
  
“’Roy’ is fine, Alphonse,” Roy said, coming forward to shake Al’s hand. “It’s good to see _you_ again.” He cast a dark look over his shoulder at Ed, who giggled manically.  
  
Some things really, _really_ never change.  
  
“Al and I,” said Ed, “we’ve been out seeing the world. Getting _cultured_. We were invited to Emperor Ling’s coronation, did you know that? Anyway. And then we get back here, to find out you’ve decided that being a bastard isn’t enough, and you want to be a rat as well.”  
  
“Better than being a dog,” Roy said, voice as mild as it could possibly be. He paused, holding his breath, _savouring_ , then – “and really, Ed, politician jokes? When this is the first time Amestris has had anything even resembling an election in over four centuries? You’ll really go to any length to crack a joke at my expense. How very... _small_ of you.”  
  
Al winced, and began to slink as quietly as possible towards the table Breda and them were gathered around, away from the danger zone.  
  
Amber eyes flashed. Then –  
  
 _“Who are you calling so small the Xingese guard force tried to remove him from the palace because they thought he was a diseased urchin sent from a foreign nation to infect the Emperor?!”_  
  
Al coughed quietly. “Actually,” he whispered to Havoc, “That was on Ling’s orders. _For old time’s sake_ , he told me. I think Ling was pretty disconcerted by Ed being the same height as him, honestly.”  
  
 _“And besides, I’m almost as tall as you, asshole, so you can just shut up!”_  
  
“Oh, but Ed, ‘almost’ is such a big word. I am taller than you, and that’s just how it is. There’s no _almost_ about it: you’re either shorter than me, or you’re not,” Roy said, relishing every word, “and you are. Shorter.”  
  
 _“Fucker, you just watch yourself or I’ll —“_  
  
“Hey, hey, hey, wait, something’s happening,” Fuery said, fumbling at the knobs on the radio.  
  
“Do you kiss your wife with that mouth, Fullmetal?” Roy said, steam-rolling right past Fuery, his eyes bright with mirth and his shoulders loose and easy for the first time all day.  
  
 _“She’s not my wife, and don’t you bring her into this! I may not have alchemy but I can still whoop your –“_  
  
Hawkeye slammed a hand down on the table. All the men jumped. “Shut up, all of you!”  
  
Sometime in the interim between the Elrics’ arrival and that very moment, Roy noted, their roles had reversed; where he was feeling _relaxed_ for the first time in days, Hawkeye was tense, her knuckles growing white as she gripped Fuery’s chair.  
  
There was a burst of static, and then a tinny voice filled the room. _“This is Benny Harrison with Radio Capital. I have just received word that the ballots have been counted. I repeat, the ballots have been counted. Ladies and gentlemen, the identity of the President of Amestris is about to be announced.”_  
  
To Roy, the world suddenly seemed faded, black-and-white like an old photograph. He didn’t feel quite connected to his own body, and yet at the same time he felt more grounded than he had since before Ishval. This was it. Win or lose, this was it.  
  
A few feet away, Hawkeye was trembling. It was so faint as to be unnoticeable, but there was nothing about her that Roy didn’t notice, not after all these years. He moved to her side as Benny Harrison droned on, recapping the situation for “those just tuning in,” as if there was a single adult in all of Amestris that hadn’t been following the election voraciously since it had first been announced. Hawkeye’s face was drawn and ashen. He understood; this battle was hers too, and she’d staked just as much on it as he had. She knew, as he knew, that this was the turning point in their crusade. They could never be redeemed, but they could at least commit what was left of their lives to the healing of those they’d hurt, if only the election went in their favour.  
  
He moved closer. When he rested a hand on her shoulder, he could feel the fine trembling under his fingertips.  
  
 _“I’m just being passed a note now – here it is, folks, what you’ve all been waiting for, this is it –“_ His fingers tightened, just a fraction. Around the table there was a collective inhale of anticipation.  
  
 _“The President of Amestris is Roy Mustang! I repeat, Roy Mustang is our new President! This is official, this is not a prank, this is the honest-to-god truth, Amestris has a president and his name is Roy –“_  
  
Well, Roy thought dazedly, in a single moment of silence, _that was weirdly -- uncomplimentary._  
  
Then Ed let out a full-throated whoop and pounded him on the back, in what had to be the most violent and surprising show of affection ever. The others around the table joined in Ed’s cheering, jumping to their feet and tackling Roy with hugs and congratulations. Al was shaking his hand with a grin so big Ed told him it would stick, and Breda was doing a weird little jig-thing with Falman, and Fuery had his arms around Roy’s waist while Havoc ruffled Roy’s hair, looking like he had a little bit of ash in his eye or something –  
  
Beyond the chaos, Hawkeye sank into Fuery’s abandoned chair, her hands limp in her lap and her gaze distant. Roy looked for her over his friends’ heads. His breath caught when he saw the small, peaceful smile on her face.  
  
Dear god. They’d done it.  
  
He allowed the raucous, tearful (but in a manly way) madness for one more moment, luxuriating in the feeling of all his friends around him, united in their belief that a better, stronger future was finally in the cards for their beloved country. Then he shook them gently loose. “Alright, I get it, you guys love me,” he joked, powering through the stinging at his eyes and the dryness in his throat. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, though. I know you’re all just relieved you’re not going to have to deal with me crashing on your couches while I mope around in unemployment.”  
  
There were a handful of mildly-watery chuckles in response, but his men were doing what they did best now: getting back to the job at hand. They stood facing him, at attention, awaiting his orders. All except for Hawkeye. She alone stayed sitting, her eyebrows raised in his direction and her eyes twinkling. He echoed her expression until she huffed a tiny laugh. “Please, sir,” she said finally, rising to join her friends, “Don’t forget that we’d be equally as unemployed as you. I’ve no doubt within a week’s time I’d have each and every one of you sleeping on my floor.”  
  
“We’d cook and clean for you, though, Hawkeye,” Breda said, grinning. “You could get a job, and we could be your kept men.”  
  
Hawkeye hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should reconsider this whole President thing. What do you think, sir?”  
  
Roy laughed. “You’d give us the boot before the first month was out, lieutenant.”  
  
More chuckles. Then Roy cleared his throat, and said, “Alright. Fuery, get the press on the line, arrange for a conference tomorrow morning in Central. Breda, can you arrange for train tickets?” At Breda’s nod, he continued. “Falman, I need you to put a call in to Briggs, if possible – my favourite General just _has_ to be informed of this development. Havoc, get your ass downstairs, tell tech that we’ll be ready to go live with the acceptance speech in a few minutes.”  
  
“Sir!” they said, all together, saluting.  
  
That’s right, Roy thought. He was President now. They could call him ‘sir’ again, officially. _Huh._  
  
His knees felt a little less than steady. As his men trooped towards the door, he turned and made his way to the window, bracing himself on the frame with hands that shook.  
  
“Hey – hey, what about us?” Ed demanded. Roy turned slightly to see Havoc wrap an arm around Ed’s shoulders and steer him forcefully towards the doors. Al followed willingly, that big smile still on his face. Shaking his head, Roy turned back to the window. Over his shoulder, Roy heard Havoc reply, “You guys can come with us. On our way down you can explain how you _just so happened_ to be dropping by East City today.”  
  
They exited the office, and when Al replied, his voice became more muffled by the second as the group moved further. “We got a call from Lieutenant Hawkeye – uh, Riza? Gosh, that’s weird. Anyway, she seemed to think the Colo – Roy needed a bit of a distraction, and we’re, uh, kind of experts.”  
  
The last Roy heard of them was Ed cackling gleefully. _“You can say that again, Al...”_  
  
He stared sightlessly out of the window. Shops, streets, and further off, even the mountains, all faded into dull blurs. He wiped at his eyes ineffectively. _Damn it._  
  
Quiet footsteps approached, and he shuffled over to make room. Hawkeye stepped into his space, also facing the window. Without a word, she put her hand over his on the sill.  
  
He turned to look at her. She was still smiling that peaceful smile as she gazed out into the horizon. He closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that suddenly threatened to drown him, and with a quiet, controlled sigh, he turned his hand over beneath hers to lace their fingers palm-to-palm.  
  
They stood there for a moment in silence, not looking at each other. Then Riza pulled away her hand, although he could feel that she didn’t step back, maintaining the closeness. He could feel her warmth. She said, quietly but firmly, “There’s work to be done yet, sir.”  
  
He opened his eyes, and there she was. He had a moment of deja vu, back to the days of darkness following the Promised Day. She’d been there then, too, right by his side when he’d opened his eyes again. He cleared his throat; it had suddenly become quite tight. “Quite right, Hawkeye,” he said. A small smile spread across his face. “And can I continue to rely on you to guard my back in this bright new era?”  
  
“All this time and you still have to ask?” she said, a hint of a smirk showing at the corners of her  
mouth. “Besides, you can barely tie your shoelaces without me there to help, everyone knows that. And have I ever steered you wrong?”  
  
“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “No, you haven’t. Not ever.”  
  
She smiled. Straightening, then, she saluted him. “Sir.”  
  
“Right,” he said. There was no time to be nervous. He had a job to do. “By my side, then.”  
  
“Sir.”  
  
He straightened his tie with perfectly steady hands, brushed some possibly-imagined specks of dust off his vest. She watched wordlessly, a hint of a smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. Then they strode out of the office, her a step behind and to the left of him, and they moved together with the ease of years of practice.   
  
It was like he’d said. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, and for that, he was infinitely grateful.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _(Excerpt from President Roy Mustang’s acceptance speech (May 3rd, 1920):_  
  
 _“[...] our work is not over. Healing, building, growing: these are not finite things. They are goals that we must strive for, always. There is no changing the past; we can only look to the future. I ask that each of you look to your loved ones, and that they, in turn, look to theirs, and that you help and protect and cherish your fellow countrymen as your brothers and sisters. If each and every one of us works at this every day, as a nation -- as a whole nation, a nation free of the prejudice and oppression of old -- we can and will grow strong. A different kind of strong than before: a strength that isn’t founded on force and fear, but on honesty, democracy, and justice. I -- I thank you for your trust, for trusting me to lead you into this bright new day. I cannot begin to tell you how honoured I am.”)_

 

**Author's Note:**

> a thousand thank-yous to [tellmeohtellme](tellmeohtellme.tumblr.com) for (drunkenly and hilariously) reading this through with me <333
> 
> I own nothing. Also, I am the worst researcher in the world so if there's actually a set time period given in fma since the last time there was an elected government, I don't know what it is and just went with "a really freaking long time." If anyone knows, though, give me a heads up!


End file.
